porcelain seat
to the porcelain floor
said I should sleep
I tried that and it only
hurts more…
I go lay in the grass.
the air is cool on my face.
I’m returning there for class,
but I still feel out of place
among all the burnt-out-on-cash children.
I’ve taught myself to loathe them,
and made a contract to never be
honest for your sake…

so if you’re running for Miss Significance,
then, madame, I’ll drown for you.
and if you’re running out of oxygen
then, madame, I’ll die for you…


thank you, madame, for killing me.
thank god, someone found the switch, finally.
and I gave away my dignity.
just to keep your flesh nearby,
or at least somewhere I can see…
coz you may not think it,
but as much as you see lies...
eh, I can’t parse my feelings
but one can only try…

went searching through the drawers,
looking for anything to make drama.
the egg cartons are broken,
and my eyes have snapped the canvas.
there’s nothing here but cinder.
a shattered home for winter
you’ve burnt the place to the floor.
and it just hurts more.
my necklace of porcelain
lays across the grass, wet and pale.
the one thing that I need
survived the bombardment of hale.